


sad, strong, safe, and sober

by bytheinco_nstantmoon



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: (kenny ortega cinematic universe), Bobby | Trevor Wilson is a Good Dad, Carrie Wilson Redemption, Character Study, Coming Out, Coming of Age, F/F, Good Person Bobby | Trevor Wilson, Growing Up, Insecurity, Male-Female Friendship, Parent-Child Relationship, Pining, Post-Season/Series 01, Reconciliation, Somewhat, and they deserve to be friends, basically carrie learning to grow up, because nick and carrie r both baby, carrie cries a lot tbh but that's okay, he loves!! his daughter!!, i believe in the kocu, nick is a danforth-evans bc thats canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bytheinco_nstantmoon/pseuds/bytheinco_nstantmoon
Summary: Carrie Wilson cut her hair.--or; redemptiondoesstart with being terrible first. You just have to take the first step, and then the next, and then the next, until you're walking again.It's okay.
Relationships: Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Carrie Wilson, Chad Danforth/Ryan Evans, Flynn/Carrie Wilson, Julie Molina & Carrie Wilson, Nick & Carrie Wilson
Comments: 84
Kudos: 300





	1. photo albums

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh i love carrie wilson so much??? so much. that's all i've got

Carrie Wilson cut her hair.

She hadn’t had a haircut in almost six years, aside from a few trims to prevent split ends. She’d always taken pride in her long hair; long and blonde and soft, always curling just right over her shoulders, always dancing just right in the wind, always swinging just right in its ponytail. A perfect, pretty curtain. It swept like velvet, tugged so easily over her face, over the cracks in the china.

Her dad pulled out pictures sometimes. Those nights when he wasn’t pacing or strumming his guitar or crying- he thought she didn’t know, but she did, that everytime he locked himself in his room he lost his mind a little bit more- he would sit with her on the couch, one arm slung around her shoulders, flipping through a book or scrolling Twitter or something, and she would just tuck herself up against his side and scribble out lyrics. Sometimes he’d pull out photo albums. They’d look through them together. Baby pictures of Carrie. Pictures from the wedding. Pictures of her mom.

Her mom had long hair. Long and blonde and soft.

“Just like mine.”

Her dad ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her head. “Yeah. Just like yours, baby.”

Without that pretty, perfect curtain, who would she be? She wouldn’t look like the pictures anymore. She wouldn’t be able to tug that velvet over her face. She’d just be Carrie; just a fragile china face about to shatter.

She kept her hair long. She was picture perfect that way.

.

.

Julie played the Orpheum. The best night of her life, Carrie was damn sure. Julie Molina, up on stage, sparkling in the light, shining like the fireworks, with curls flying everywhere, with a vibrancy that struck Carrie’s bones. She was beautiful.

Dad closed the door of his bedroom behind him when they got home. She settled onto her bed and pretended she couldn’t hear the crying. She could always hear it. He thought she couldn’t. He thought that she believed him when he said he was meditating all afternoon, that he was writing lyrics, that he missed dinner because he got caught up with the chords. He thought she couldn’t see the exhaustion underlining his eyes. The way he fell out of touch after a while, tumbling into the dark part of his mind she’s not supposed to know about. She always knew. She just pretended not to see it.

But Julie played the Orpheum and Carrie’s notebook had been sitting open in front of her for twenty minutes. So what’s the point in pretending?

She knocked firmly. Once, twice, three times, and then a fourth just in case he was thinking about ignoring her. He didn’t get to ignore her.

Dad had never really ignored her, though, so he opened the door. “Carrie. I was just-”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. He blinked. “You’re about to say you were meditating or writing lyrics or something. Stop lying to me.”

He blinked again. “Carrie-”

“Stop lying to me,” she repeated.

Dad stared at her for a long moment. She stared back, because his eyes were red and her hands were shaking and this house was so big and white and empty and both of them hated it and if they didn’t stop lying to each other she was going to scream the whole place down.

“Okay,” he said softly. He stepped aside to let her in. Carrie instantly gravitated to the bed. Every night when she was little, she’d come in here, her little feet pitter pattering along the floor, and scrambled up to curl into his side. He’d always whispered, “Are you okay, honey?” and she’d always nodded, because it was okay once Dad was there. It was safe once Dad was there.

Somewhere along the line, she’d given up on that. Because Dad lied. Because Dad cried alone in his room. Because Dad wrote songs she wasn’t supposed to know about, things with minor chords and lyrics about guilt and anger and fear, fear, fear. Because Dad was scared too. Somewhere along the line, it had become so much easier to lie.

But they both hate it. So he settled down next to her with an arm slung around her shoulders and she curled into his side and it was safe. It was safe when Dad was there.

He had a photo album.

They didn’t open it.

He kissed her head, though, and said, “Are you okay, honey?”

“Are you?” she retorted, although it wasn’t much of a retort when her voice was small and cracking down the middle.

“No.” The exhaustion in his voice when he admitted it almost made guilt curl into Carrie’s stomach. It was heavy. Years and years of fatigue in just one word, sinking down into her bones, her muscles, her brain, soaking her in that same broken, tired sigh. “Not really.” Carrie closed her eyes and leaned into him. “You know,” he continued after a pause. “You know. I’ve been thinking of moving.”

She tightened her grip. “Yeah?”

He kissed her head again. “Yeah. Somewhere more to the East, maybe.”

“Rhode Island?”

“Sure, baby. Rhode Island.”

Carrie smiled, just a little bit. “I thought you said you’d never move out East,” she said.

“Yeah.” He sighed. Pet her hair again. Her spine relaxed a bit more at the gentle touch. “Your mother hated it out there. Said it was too crowded. Too loud. But it’s already so loud here. And she never liked anything I did, anyway.” There was a laugh somewhere in there, but it was broken and exhausted and sliced at Carrie like splintered bone. “Out here, it’s…” he trailed off. Sighed again. “Is any of it worth it?”

Carrie tapped her fingers on his shoulder. A slow beat. A drumbeat. “No,” she said, with only a second of hesitation. He kissed her head.

She kept the beat going. He tapped it on her arm in return, and they went back and forth, trading little patterns. Thrum, thrum, thrum. It was safe. It was safe now that Dad was there.

“You know,” she said, and then paused. Just like him. She’d always been a little bit too much like him. She had the dark place in her mind, too, but she didn’t think he knew that. They were both too good at lying. “You know, I love theatre.”

He laughed faintly. “You’ve dropped out of every theatre class you’ve ever taken.”

“Not  _ doing  _ it,” she amended immediately, her nose wrinkling. He laughed again. “But watching it. Reading it. I like that a lot.” She stopped talking. He didn’t interrupt, though. Dad always knew when she had more to say. “There’s so much- there’s structure to it, you know? There’s structure to the plot, to the flow, to the theme.” Her voice wavered. “And- and, you know, there are a lot of themes that stick around. Famous ones.” He pulled her in closer. The safety of his touch sank down into her bones, chasing out the exhaustion that had settled there. “Julie played the Orpheum tonight,” and then her voice gave out.

Her dad swallowed hard. “Julie and the Phantoms played the Orpheum tonight,” he repeated. His voice was hollow. That old guilt, the one she wasn’t supposed to see, was coiling through his eyes.

“Yeah. And that- that makes sense. Thematically.” She was crying. She hadn’t meant to be crying. “Because I- I was born with everything. And she worked for so much. But I worked too. I worked  _ too,  _ Dad.” Her voice broke in half, splintering back down her throat. It was so hard to force the words out over the scraped skin. “I don’t want everything! I don’t, I just- I just wanted my music, I wanted my music to be enough, and it’s not, and it’ll never be, and- and I’ll be worse than her, and-”

“Carrie, you’re amazing,” he interrupted firmly. He twisted them so that he could grip her shoulders, looking into her eyes. There was steel in his gaze. “You  _ have  _ worked. You’ve done so, so much. You have put your heart and soul into your work, and I am so, so proud of you. You don’t have to be better than Julie. It’s music, baby. You do it for you. Do it for  _ you.” _

Carrie sniffled. “I’ve never done it for me,” she replied faintly.

And Dad knew. Dad had always known.

“You don’t have to be better than Julie,” he repeated, softer. “You’re not competing with her.”

“But-”

“Carrie, listen to me.” His smile was slow, small, but it was real. It was real. It was safe. “You don’t have to compete with Julie. That’s how you lose, okay? I know it feels like you’ll never measure up. But that’s the great thing about it, baby.  _ You don’t have to.  _ I’ll always think you’re better than her. You know that. It’s because I love you.” He squeezed her shoulders and then took her hands tightly. “Don’t compete. Just be yourself.”

“That’s what Disney Channel says.”

“Well, sometimes Disney Channel has a point.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s not you versus Julie. It’s you versus the version of you that you’ve created. Flynn isn’t going to break through that mask unless you show her there’s something underneath.”

Because Dad always knew.

“Okay,” she whispered. She drew in another shaky breath. “But what if…” she swallowed. “What if there isn’t? What if… what if I’ve done too much for too long? What if there isn’t anyone under there anymore?”

Dad’s smile widened, but it was so sad, and she loved him so much. “That’s a scary thing to worry about,” he said quietly. “But you don’t need to be afraid, Carrie. If you can’t find yourself under everything, then I’m here to help you, okay? No more lying. You can build yourself back up. If you can’t find who you are, then find who you want to be, and I will do everything I can to help you feel like that.”

“Pinky promise?”

He wrapped his pinky around hers. “Pinky promise, baby. Always.”

Carrie took a deep breath. “Always,” she repeated. She met his eyes, pulling that steel into her smile. It was safe like this. Even shattering herself open, even breaking apart all the china, it was safe.

She was crumbling, and that was okay.

.

.

Her mom had left. Walked right out on them. Carrie was only three. She didn’t remember.

She flipped the photo album open. It was late. Midnight, maybe? Dad had gone up to bed after making her promise to get at least a little bit of sleep before school tomorrow. It had been a few days since Julie played the Orpheum. Carrie hadn’t been back yet. She couldn’t face those hallways. Not like this.

Here was the thing about photo albums: they didn’t always tell the stories they were supposed to.

She was sitting on the soft white carpet, wearing Nick’s soft socks, wearing a big white cardigan, holding a root beer in her hand. She should look at good photos. Nice photos. Nostalgic photos. She flipped to the photos of her parents instead.

It was easy to see why Mom walked out. It had always annoyed Carrie, a little bit, but now it swelled up in her stomach like a storm, striking at her insides with lightning and lancing rage. In every photo, there was Mom, with her pretty blonde hair, laughing, lit up, and in every photo, there was Dad, standing behind her, watching her, smiling. He had a hand on her waist in one, looking down at her with a grin. She had one hand in his back pocket, the other outstretched to grasp the hand of one of her friends. She was laughing again. Laughing, laughing, laughing, and Dad was smiling, smiling, smiling, and Mom had walked out, because she was so  _ vibrant  _ and  _ alive  _ and she loved to  _ laugh  _ and it wasn’t interesting enough in this big empty white house with husband still learning to be happy and a china doll.

They hadn’t been enough.

_ Carrie _ hadn’t been enough.

It was easy to see why her mom left. She flipped the page again. It was her and Julie with Flynn sandwiched between them, sitting on the Molina’s front porch with glasses of lemonade. She took a sip of her root beer, humming under her breath. Flynn was leaning into Julie’s side. Carrie was laughing. She probably didn’t know yet.

When had she realised, anyway? Eleven? Twelve? By thirteen, surely, because she’d seen Flynn do a tumbling routine at cheer practice and nearly pulled her into a fumbling, chapstick kiss as she stood up, grinning so wide, so proud.

Maybe there were cheer pictures somewhere. Flynn had quit after eighth grade, and Carrie had quit after ninth, but they’d looked cute back in middle school, wearing matching uniforms and chasing each other around the field after the games. Flynn would always tackle her down onto the ground. Carrie always pretended to get mad about it. She’d stomp her foot and whine and everything. Flynn always just laughed.

Was that part of it? Was it because she whined so much? If she hadn’t pouted and rolled her eyes so often, would they have stuck with her?

Probably not. But it was food for thought, at least.

Carrie took another sip of her root beer and flipped back to the pictures of her parents. The anger came flooding back through her veins as soon as she caught sight of Mom, grinning so wide, so proud, with Dad pushed back behind her. That was  _ her  _ grin. That was the grin Carrie had seen in the mirror when she nailed a tumbling pass, when she nailed a routine, when she showed off a song and made Flynn and Julie applaud. That was the grin she saw in the mirror the first time Nick called her pretty. That grin was in all her good memories, all her good photos, all her nostalgic scrapbooks. That grin was  _ hers,  _ goddammit.

Mom stared up at her with crinkled eyes and pretty blonde hair flying everywhere. Carrie stood up so quickly that she almost spilt the root beer.

The sink was cold underneath her fingers. “Fuck,” she whispered, staring into her reflection. It was Mom, it was her, it was Mom, it was her, it was wide eyed and pale and crumbling china and if she turned her head just right then a velvet curtain came rushing down, and just like that-

Just like that, she was picture perfect.

A pretty, perfect curtain turned her into Mom.

She was moving before her mind caught up. Everything was blurry, shaky, shuddering in her bones, in her lungs, something like anger or fear running through her whole body, taking her over. Claiming residence in weak, cracking hands. Jolting her feet to the cabinet, back to the mirror.

Her mind finally whirled into the realisation of what she was doing, but it was already happening.

Without that pretty, perfect curtain, who would she be? She wouldn’t look like the pictures anymore. She wouldn’t be Mom. She wouldn’t be picture perfect.

She’d be the person underneath the mask.

She ached so badly to be the person underneath the mask.

.

.

It made sense, in hindsight. It wasn’t as sudden or impulsive or insane as it felt in the moment. It was an explosion of anger, of guilt, of fear, of a thousand lies that had built up and up and up until there was nothing left and no space left to fill and they could do nothing but burst out of her like the fireworks on Julie’s stage.

It was natural.

Julie played the Orpheum, and Carrie Wilson cut her hair.

.

.

“You look good,” Dad told her, sitting at the kitchen table with a real estate website up in front of him. She leaned in to look over his shoulder. “Your hair. It’s nice,” he added.

Carrie gave him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad.” She pointed at one of the listings. “What’s the inside like on that one?”

He flipped them through the pictures. It was nice. Golden wood floors, a garden out back. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room with a big window. It was so much smaller. It was so fucking pretty.

“That looks like heaven,” she said softly.

He kissed her head. “Yeah. It does, doesn’t it?” He was smiling at the screen. “You’re going to school today, right?”

She nodded, heading to the fridge to grab breakfast. “Yeah. I need to get caught up on my work.” She made a face. “Can we have pizza for dinner?” She didn’t normally care much about her homework, but she’d already fallen behind in music and dance. She couldn’t afford to fall behind in her grades too.

Dad snorted. “Didn’t we have pizza two nights ago?”

“...Yes. And?”

He gave her a smile over his shoulder. “Sure, we can have pizza.” She cheered, clapping a few times, and then grabbed her backpack. “Have a good day at school! Love you!”

“Okay! Love you too!” she yelled back. She made sure not to slam the door behind her. Dad always flinched when doors slammed. He thought she didn’t see that, but she always had.

Walking to school had never been her first choice, but it was a bright, bursting morning, full of color and sound and a bounce in her step, and every moment felt like a little gift. Like walking these streets was something she was lucky to do. She hummed along to the tune in her head and stopped by the bakery a block over from school, because she liked cookies and she wanted a cookie and who was going to to stop her, really? The lady behind the counter gave her a polite smile. Carrie couldn’t help but grin back at her. “Have a lovely day!”

“You too,” the employee said, her smile a little more genuine.

Carrie ate the cookie on her way to school. It was good. It made her stomach sink a little less when she passed the sign.

“Carrie?”

She spun around from where she’d been shoving her things into her locker. “Oh! Kayla! Hi!”

Kayla smiled distantly. There was a confused wrinkle between her brows. “Hi? Uh…” She tilted her head. “Are you feeling alright? You look… not like yourself.” She gave Carrie’s outfit a significant glance.

Suddenly, the big pink sweatshirt felt a little suffocating. “I’m fine,” she replied, the edge of a snap in her voice. “I’m great, actually.”

“Okay.” Kayla looked unconvinced. Carrie tried not to roll her eyes, because what if that was the reason, but she didn’t try very hard, because why did Kayla give a shit what she was wearing? Sweatshirts and jeans shorts were comfortable. All Carrie cared about right now was being comfortable. “I’ll see you in chem?”

“Yeah. See you in chem.”

Kayla vanishes in a swirl of fruity perfume and perfectly straightened hair, and Carrie gnawed at her lip, staring after her. There was something empty in her chest.

Nick stepped into her line of vision. “Hey.”

“Hey, Nick.” She was wearing his socks. Would he realise that, if he glanced down?

He shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I just wanted to say, uh- we sort of left off on bad terms, and I-”

“Hey,” she interrupted. His eyes jolted to hers.

She wanted to say something sharp. She wanted to say something twisted, or draw out a cruel little joke about how he came back groveling. She wanted to look down at him. Just like he’d looked down at her the night of the party and decided she wasn’t worth it. For a moment, she burned to make him feel like he wasn’t worth it.

But he was.

She felt a little sick admitting it to herself, but he was. And Carrie didn’t want to lie anymore.

So instead, she said, “It’s okay.” Nick blinked, clearly surprised. “It’s  _ okay,”  _ she repeated. “I shouldn’t have said… anything that I said. And I mean, Julie’s really pretty. I bet she was really fun to dance with, right?”

He swallowed nervously. “I mean, yeah. But I still… I feel bad. Just ditching you.” He looked like he was afraid she’d laugh at him.

“Nick, look at me.” He pulled his gaze up from his shoes. “I know I hurt you. And I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. But you moved on. That’s… that’s what anyone would do.” Her voice wavered a little, but she swallowed it down. “You deserve to be with someone who doesn’t hurt you. You were worth it, and I wasn’t, and that’s okay. I  _ promise  _ that’s okay.”

Nick looked conflicted. “Carrie…”

“It’s okay,” she repeated. Her eyes were stinging, but she bit her tongue. She wasn’t going to cry. “Please, just… don’t apologise.”

It took a moment, but he heaved out a breath and nodded. “Okay,” he agreed softly. There was a pause. “Your hair looks nice.” Carrie smiled, tucking a strand behind her ear. He smiled back. “Do you want help with your books?”

“That’d be nice.”

It hurt to watch the way his eyes tracked Julie down the hall, but she just breathed through the sting, because it really was okay. She hadn’t lied. He deserved something better. He deserved someone who didn’t doodle pom poms on her notes and write songs about chapstick kisses. Nick had always been sweet, and he’d always been kind, and he was a good friend. If Carrie was going to let herself crumble, she needed a good friend.

It was a first step.

It was okay.


	2. thresholds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redemption, Carrie finds, is about self-awareness.
> 
> Self-awareness, Carrie finds, is a goddamn nightmare.  
> -  
> or; there are a few conversations she needs to have, but it's so hard when every step she takes is so fragile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, every day: opens doc  
> me: i have no thoughts whatsoever
> 
> but i have finally finished!!! it is finished. it is here. now time to kick my braincells into functioning for chapter 3,,,, you r not ready

It’s fragile, this friendship she and Nick have, but the other side of the gorge- the side where he loves her again, in a slightly different way- is worth a trembling tightwire. It’s worth the hesitancy in his smiles. It’s worth the way he ducks his head while they’re talking, like he’s scared to be demeaned. It’s worth the way her whole heart inverts itself to watch him shy away from her, because  _ Nick  _ is worth it, and Carrie is determined to focus on the things that matter. He  _ matters.  _ She can’t tell him yet, because he doesn’t trust her. But once she earns that trust, she’ll make sure he knows. Every single day.

They study together now, which is nice. It’s quiet. Carrie’s never liked the quiet- when the world is silent all around her, she shrinks, she fades, she crumbles down into whatever people see. When she’s silent, she’s just a perception. She can’t control what people see when they look at her. That’s the beauty of music, of words- she can own minds and eyes and build a hundred gazes into a single, focused moment. She can fool anyone with the right words.

But it’s still all pretend. That girl she is when they’re watching her, that’s not  _ Carrie.  _ She’s not Carrie in the quiet either, when everyone else controls their perception of her, but she doesn’t know how to find an in between yet. She needs to lose control a little bit to find a balance.

So she studies with Nick, and it’s quiet, and it’s nice. She doesn’t know quite what he’s thinking when he reaches over to highlight something on her notes, or when she tweaks an equation for him, but she doesn’t need to. She can just breathe with him. That’s something special, she thinks. Being able to just exist with someone. The comfort of not needing to control his image of her is worth every moment that he won’t meet her eyes.

They’re studying together when the conversation first comes up.

“So,” Nick says. He’s reading a book for AP Lit, but he hasn’t turned a page in five minutes. “Owen Parker.”

Carrie glances up from her pre-calc. “Owen… oh, the cute blonde one?”

“He’s not cute,” Nick says. Carrie shrugs. “No, really. Are you okay?” He reaches over to feel her forehead. She breaks out into a grin before she can help it. They’ve never had casual teasing like this. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

She sticks her tongue out. “He has nice eyes!” Nick scoffs.  _ “Anyway,”  _ she says, trying to divert the conversation away from her (very good, by the way) taste in boys. (She has better taste in girls, but still. She knows a cute boy when she sees one.) “What about Owen?” He and Nick aren’t friends, as far as she knows. What does she really know, though?

Nick shifts uncomfortably. “Well. Haven’t you heard?”

“No?”

“He came out. He’s gay.”

Carrie waits for the next part of it. When it becomes clear it’s not forthcoming, she says, “Okay.” What else is she supposed to say? ‘Happy birthday’? That wouldn’t make sense.

Nick nods. “Okay.”

“Okay. Is that… I mean, why do you bring it up?” There’s a hammering in her ears. She can’t quite breathe. Nick’s a sweetheart, of course, there’s no way he minds. There’s no way. Then again, she doesn’t know what his parents are like. He’s never let her meet them. Maybe they’re super religious or super conservative and he was raised surrounded by that kind of speech. Maybe there’s a reason he’s not friends with Owen Parker.

Nick just kind of shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you know him?”

“No. Sorry I called him cute, though, I guess. Is that insulting, do you think?” She frowns at her pre-calc. “It’s just an observation, but it  _ does  _ usually have romantic connotations… I’ll just go back to saying he has nice eyes. That’s not weird, is it?”

Nick squints at her. “How much sleep did you get last night?” he asks, sounding suspicious. Carrie blinks at him innocently.  _ “Carrie.” _

“Oops!” She finishes number 12 and puts her pencil down. “Number 13 looks hard. I don’t wanna do it. Wanna go get a cookie or something?”

They don’t talk about Owen Parker again. He lets her buy him a coffee, though- “as long as you don’t buy one. No caffeine until you get a good night’s sleep.”- and she gets a cookie, and it’s something like alright. The tightwire doesn’t feel quite as fragile anymore.

.

.

It’s not that easy, obviously. It  _ should  _ be. Redeeming yourself should just be about midnight haircuts and coffee with friends. But the world doesn’t work like that.

Redemption, Carrie finds, is about self-awareness.

Self-awareness, Carrie finds, is a goddamn nightmare.

A literal one. She’ll bolt awake at two or three or four, with memories dancing behind her eyes, with Nick’s yelling in her ears and Julie’s glare in her back, with Kayla’s eyes looking her up and down, stripping away the china and finding nothing. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing but hollowness and fear and guilt that  _ burns.  _ She’ll stumble down the hall to her dad’s room and curl up right outside the door, because her heart is hammering and her head is spinning and her lungs are too swollen for her fragile skin, but she never knocks. She never crawls inside. She doesn’t want the guilt of waking him up, too, not when the exhaustion that riddles him is finally healing in the slowest of ways. So she sits outside his door until she can breathe again, and then she goes back to sleep.

Sleep isn’t an escape anymore. But it will be someday, she hopes, so she clings to that and takes another step.

And another step, and another, and then it’s a Tuesday afternoon edging into evening, and she’s standing at the end of Molina’s driveway with a bouquet of lilies and tulips and yellow roses. It’s vibrant. Very eye-catching. She hopes Julie doesn’t stomp on it. That’d be a shame of beauty.

It would be an odd sight to anyone watching; Carrie Wilson, at half past five on a Tuesday, halfway up the Molina’s front porch columns. It takes a minute, because she’s being careful of the flowers stuck into her hoodie pocket. When she crawls onto the roof, they’re a little bent, but it’s okay. She probably should have knocked. She doesn’t want to be turned away by Carlos or Ray, though. If Julie is going to kick her out of the house, Carrie is going to make damn sure it’s personal.

She marks down the thought as something to remember about the tricky little control complex. She thinks she can indulge it this time, though.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The fact that Julie opens her window at all is a relief, and Carrie can’t help but relax a bit. She holds out the flowers awkwardly. “Can I come in?”

Julie glances between her and the bouquet five times before she gingerly accepts it and steps aside. “Fine. Yes.” She watches with wary eyes as Carrie crawls through and brushes off her jeans. She looks around. The room has changed since she’d last been here- granted, that was a few years ago, but it’s strange to see the differences. In her head, Julie is still the girl that scorned her in eighth grade. In here, it’s painfully obvious that Julie is so, so much more. Maybe that’s why it took her so long to come.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she says, pointing to a sketch on the wall. It’s of Julie and one of her bandmates. It’s just black and white, a simple charcoal sketch, but the amount of  _ happiness  _ that bursts out from the lines catches in Carrie’s chest, even from across the room. “Did Flynn do that?”

Julie blinks, like she didn’t expect Carrie to remember Flynn’s hobbies. That’s probably fair. It still stings. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” Carrie clears her throat, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Do you have a minute?” Julie raises an eyebrow. “Right. Clearly. You might want to sit down, it’s a little long.”

Julie situates herself at the end of the bed, sitting cross legged over the covers. She doesn’t look  _ comfortable,  _ exactly, but she’s not openly glaring. She’s on the edge of amused, maybe. Carrie can work with that. She pulls out the folded notebook paper from her back pocket and clears her throat again, readying herself. “Oh, you can raise your hand if you have questions,” she adds.

“Alright, Carrie.” She’d forgotten how nice it sounds when Julie is almost laughing.

She takes a deep breath and unfolds the paper. “Dear Julie,” she starts. “I want to apologise.” She can see Julie blink, like she didn’t expect that. “Why do you look surprised? Did you think I was confessing my love or something?”

“No! I just didn’t expect the apology to be so forward!”

“Oh. Okay. That’s probably fair.” Carrie goes back to her letter. “I was going to write you a song, but I don’t know how I could get my guitar through your bedroom window. So I’ll give a speech instead.” She has to pause, taking a deep breath, to get the next part out. “I lied to you. I wish I could say how many times, but it’s uncountable. I lied to you every day. Every time I glared at you, or acted like I didn’t love you, I was lying. You were my best friend for so, so long, and I was lying every time I said that didn’t matter. I was lying when I said I was better than you. I’m so, so much worse. You wouldn’t hurt someone like that, the way I hurt you. And I’m so, so sorry. That doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel, but I don’t have those words. I don’t know how to express it. I’m just sorry.” She has to pause to take another breath, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t really expect forgiveness, but- oh, you have a question.”

Julie lowers her hand. “Not exactly.” And before Carrie can do more than wrinkle her brows, Julie’s hopping up off the bed and dragging her into a hug.

“Oh,” she breathes. Julie’s arms tighten around her waist, and that’s all the incentive she needs to throw hers around her shoulders in return, burying her face in her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shut up,” Julie interrupts, and it’s gentle and soft and full of warmth, and this is so beyond worth every step she took to make it here. She pulls Carrie back, and they stumble onto the bed, collapsing into it with a mutual laugh. She’s crying, she thinks. That’s nothing new these days. “You’re forgiven,” Julie finally says. She’s holding on tightly enough to warm the empty spaces between Carrie’s bones.

Carrie can’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. There’s just complete, utter relief, and a weight like Atlas’s being pulled off her shoulders. There’s just the way she shudders and goes boneless into Julie’s grip, because she can’t be tense anymore. There’s nothing rigid in her. There’s just a softness that floods her to the core. “You’re amazing, Julie,” she whispers. “You know that, right?”

Julie squeezes her. “So are you,” she replies, and when she says it like that, strong and certain and full of conviction, Carrie can start to believe her.

By the time they roll apart, Carrie is all out of tears. She doesn’t hurt like normal, though. It’s not the empty kind of tragedy that comes from losing herself. It’s like she cried a hole into herself, and Julie just filled it up. There’s a little patch that’s not so raw anymore. A piece of redemption, right through her middle.

She holds onto Julie’s hand. “So,” she starts, voice cracking. “How’ve you been?”

There’s a pause before they both start laughing. Julie’s laugh is one of the best sounds in the whole world.

Carrie points to the drawing Flynn had done. “Which one is that?”

“Reggie,” Julie says. She’s smiling. “She was going to draw me with Luke, but she said she couldn’t promote heterosexuality like that.”

“You have a crush on a hologram boy?” Carrie asks, incredulous. Julie shrugs. “Wait, Flynn’s gay?” This is news. Welcome news, of course, but-

Julie’s face drops. Carrie remembers Owen Parker.

“Girls,” she says hastily, and Julie looks confused, because of course she does, because how did Carrie think  _ that  _ would make sense. “Uh.” Julie lets go of her hand and points at the wall. “How did I not notice that before?” Carrie murmurs. The flag isn’t exactly subtle. She takes Julie’s hand again, because she misses the warmth. “Where’d you get it? Can you just order them off Amazon?”

Julie’s voice is fragile, but she’s smiling. “Yeah. That’s how I got mine.”

“Sick.” She rolls over. “So. Flynn. Gay?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Irrelevant. Is she gay?”

Julie laughs. “Why don’t you ask her?” she asks, tone lightly teasing, and Carrie suspects she’s been caught. She doesn’t quite mind, though.

She bites her lip nervously. “Flowers aren’t going to work,” she murmurs, pondering. “How does someone apologise to  _ Flynn?  _ Do I have to write her a song? I could write her a song. Would she like that?”

Julie brings up a hand to cup her face. “Do what feels right,” she advises. “Flynn likes honesty. Be honestly yourself, and that’s the best you can give her, okay?”

Carrie  _ refuses  _ to cry again, but she does sniffle a little. “What if that’s not good enough?” she asks. Her voice refuses to rise above a hoarse whisper. Julie’s smile fades.

“It is,” she says, and her voice is genuine. “My mom-” her voice breaks, but she swallows hard and powers on through it. (It’s a thought in the back of her mind that she doesn’t dare say, but that little moment makes Carrie so, so proud.) “My mom wrote me a song. I don’t perform it, but…” she swallows hard. “Come on, Care. Sit up. Here.” Carrie curls up against the pillows as Julie moves to the keyboard by her closet. There’s a moment where they meet each other’s eyes, Julie’s fingers on the keys, Carrie’s legs pulled up to her chest, and that moment is every second they’ve spent without each other, and that moment is the moment the open wound heals. That moment is the moment Carrie doesn’t feel lonely anymore.

The song makes her cry again.

She’s okay with crying, though, as long as Julie is there.

.

.

“I have a crush on Flynn.”

Dad didn’t look up from where he was at his desk, writing something. “Yes.” Carrie glared at him. “Oh, sorry, I’m supposed to sound surprised.” He cleared his throat. “Oh my God, seriously?” It’s too nasally and it doesn’t sound surprised at all, but it makes her laugh.

“I think Julie knows that,” she continues, frowning. “And I trust her and all, but it’s a little humiliating.”

Dad spins his chair around, regarding her carefully. “Why’s that?” he asks. His attention is fully on her. It’s the kind of gaze that feels intrusive from anyone else, but is comforting with him.

“Well.” She pauses. “I don’t even know if Flynn will tolerate me. And I think she  _ maybe  _ likes girls, but it’s not like that means  _ I  _ have a chance, so that just means Julie knows I have a super hopeless crush on her best friend who I haven’t even apologised to yet! Also it’s distressing and that’s keeping me awake, but I promised Nick I’d try to get eight hours of sleep tonight, so I feel bad.” She kicks her feet at the covers. “Can I sleep in here? It’s comfier.”

“Carrie, we have the same bed.”

“It’s comfier.”

“It has the same bedding, even.” She pouts. “Fine. I have a lot of work to get done, anyway.” He tosses one of the notebooks on his desk across the room to her. “Read that,” he says. “There are some lyrics in there I think you’ll like. And remember what I told you, okay? You have to give Flynn the chance to make her own choice. In the meantime, focus on being good enough for yourself.  _ That’s  _ the most important part.”

Carrie thinks about his words long after he leaves the room. Good enough for herself? She only has, like, a week of this redemption business under her belt. She’s not good enough for  _ anyone  _ yet.

But she’s good enough for Dad. And she’s getting closer to being good enough for Nick. And she was good enough to hear Julie’s song.

Flynn isn’t more important than them. She’s just important in a different way. Carrie’s not sure she can ever be good enough for herself if Flynn says she’s not worth it.

But she can try, right? She can try. Maybe that’s all she can do, but it’s a start.

.

.

The next day at school is spent in a blur of scribbling words and notes, connecting them haphazardly in some kind of attempt to scratch the  _ surface  _ of how Flynn could make her feel. None of it makes sense. It takes over her history notes, her biology binder, the back of her pre-calc test- which Mr Morgen does not appreciate, but it’s too late now. None of it works. None of the metaphors, none of the pretty language, none of the words she’s so afraid to say. She’s always been so good with writing. She doesn’t understand why it’s failing her now.

She crawls into Nick’s car after sixth period and sleeps through seventh, because technically with the extra hour she almost kept her promise. Six and eight are close enough, right?

“How did you get in?”

She gives him a hopeful little smile. “Can you drive me home?”

“Yeah, of course, but  _ how did you get in?” _

She takes the opportunity to flip through some of his latest guitar riffs. His notebook is so much neater than hers. Is that what it looks like to be a well-adjusted person? To understand your own mind? “Do you ever go crazy?” she asks without fully meaning to.

Nick blinks. “What?”

Oh, she has regrets. She flips another page, tracing a finger over a pretty melody he’d written. “Like… I don’t know. I just think I might be crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Carrie.” He reaches over to squeeze her hand. “I think you’re trying. And that’s really hard.” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to smile at her. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

“Oh.” Her voice cracks. “Thank you.” His smiles never used to last through conversations with her. If she can make him smile, maybe she can be proud of herself, too.

Maybe. She needs a song first, though.

“Hey, you wanna come over to my place?” Nick asks suddenly. She’s never been over to his house. He’s never invited her. Carrie had spent an entire goddamn  _ year  _ at his side, and not even once had he asked her to come over. There’s a metaphor in that, she thinks, one that itches at her brain: something about redemption and forgiveness and thresholds she’s never crossed before. Something about honesty.

He’s letting her into his house. That’s letting her further into his life than she’s ever been allowed to go before.

He  _ trusts  _ her.

“That sounds great,” she says, and she’s only tearing up a little bit.


	3. stretch marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hadn’t been sure what it meant when her dad said “be good enough for yourself,” but she _gets_ it now, because she _is._ Right now, leaning into Nick’s shoulder, feeling appreciated and filled with adoration, Carrie is good enough for herself. Carrie is just _Carrie._ She’s found the balance. She’s just her, and she’s happy with that, and she’s so goddamn glad she’s alive right now.  
> -  
> or; Carrie crosses a threshold, and everything makes so much more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may notice the chapter count has gone up!! that's because... way more was supposed to happen in this chapter, but it didn't, because my little goblin hands wouldn't move on from nick and carrie be baby. they bond so much in this chapter, my guys. you are not even ready for the amount of best friend bonding you're about to read. you have NO IDEA how much bonding is about to happen. you do not even KNOW how tender carrie will get
> 
> that being said!! chapter 4 will probably be up either today or tomorrow!! i'm very excited to get this story written!!

“Welcome to the Danforth-Evans house,” Nick says, all casual, as if Carrie is paying any attention to him instead of gaping at the house. He grabs his backpack from the back seat and swings it up over his shoulder, tossing a grin her way.

Carrie is frozen for a moment longer before she moves all at once. She goes tumbling straight out of the car, nearly falling, and barely remembers to grab her bag before she slams the door closed and hurtles for the gate, tugging at it insistently. “Open it!” Nick is still locking up the car. “Nick! Nicholas Danforth-Evans, I swear, open this gate right now-” He’s laughing, she can tell, but it doesn’t stop her from stomping her feet. “Nick,” she whines, and finally,  _ finally,  _ he presses in the passcode and allows her to go rocketing into the front garden.

She knows he’s watching her, but she can’t be bothered to give a fuck right now. She heads immediately for the hydrangea bushes and drops down to her knees. There’s azaleas growing right behind them, and  _ how  _ did they get the pH level balanced correctly in L.A. of all places, and sprigs of lily of the valley are sprayed around. “Enjoying yourself?” Nick sounds amused. It’s a soft kind of amusement, though.

Carrie twists around to look at him. “You are  _ such  _ an asshole,” she declares, which just makes him laugh. “Everytime we drive by I talk about how much I  _ love  _ this garden, and  _ everytime-” _

“Everytime I tell you that maybe you can go in one day,” he finishes. “And look at that. It’s the day.”

Carrie huffs, but she can’t repress her smile, and she wouldn’t want to even if she could. She crosses to the rose bushes and kneels down. “God, these are gorgeous,” she breathes. “The  _ pink-” _

Nick’s knee nudges against the back of her shoulder. She’s never seen him look so fond. “You should see the bushes out by my aunt’s,” he says. His eyes soften as she lights up, and he offers a hand to help her to her feet. “My dad’s been growing green roses there.”

_ “Green?  _ Oh, he must be a genius. Can I meet him? Is he at work or something? Oh, the honeysuckle-” she gets distracted toying at one of the vines that wraps around the front porch railing.

Nick lets her, and only leads her to the door once she’s done. Something about that makes  _ her  _ go all disgustingly soft and fond, too. She’s felt like that a lot, recently. With Nick, and with Julie, with Dad. It’s almost painful how warm her heart can get all at once, just because someone she cares about is caring about her. “Everyone should be home,” he answers. He struggles a little bit with the lock. Nick is  _ terrible  _ with keys. It’s the coordination. “Dad won’t leave for his rehearsal until six, and the girls should be home from school by now, unless my brother forgot them-”

“Your brother forgot them,” a voice interrupts as the door opens, and someone comes skidding around the corner. “Sorry. I was finishing up a project. Totally forgot the time.”

Carrie leans up on her toes to stage whisper in Nick’s ear. “Is this the brother?” Nick rolls his eyes and nods. Carrie sticks out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Nick’s brother.”

He shakes her hand with no hesitation and a smile. “Hello, Nick’s friend,” he replies, and then skids back around the corner. Nick raises an eyebrow. Moments later, his brother comes back with Crocs hastily shoved on over his socks.

“No!” Nick and Carrie both exclaim in unison. Nick offers her a high five before turning back to his brother.  _ “No,”  _ he repeats. “You will  _ not  _ leave the house in those,” he says, sounding altogether like a lecturing mother. Hands on his hips and everything. Carrie would laugh if she wasn’t busy being appalled. “I mean it, Xan. Change. Now.”

His brother- Xan, apparently- sighs. “I don’t have anything else down here, though,” he complains. “And I’m older, you can’t tell me what shoes to wear-”

“You’re wearing  _ Crocs  _ with mismatched socks, I have every right-”

“I look fashionable!”

“You’re embarrassing me in front of my friend!”

Carrie slides her Vans off and kicks them in his direction. “Here. These are too big for me, anyway,” she offers. Xan lights up.

Nick blinks. “Oh, Care, you really don’t have to-” she shushes him. Xan pulls on the Vans and clicks his tongue approvingly, hopping a few times. “Wow. They actually fit.” Nick’s lips twitch towards a smirk. “Must be because you’re so  _ short.” _

Carrie pushes at his shoulder. “Oh, leave him alone. Let him go get the girls,” she says. Nick sighs, but gestures dramatically to the door with a pointed stare in Xan’s direction. The older boy leaves with a flourishing bow. “So, that’s your brother, huh?”

Nick glances at her. He’s smiling. So is she, actually, isn’t she? She hadn’t noticed. “Yeah, that’s Xander,” he says. His voice is fond. “He’s a mess.”

“Aren’t we all,” she replies, and then slides the Crocs on. “What do you say? Am I more stylin’ in these than him?” She does a few model struts around the hallway.

Nick claps a hand over his mouth with a laugh. “No. No, not at all,” he replies. Carrie shrugs and kicks them off. “Just leave ‘em. I’ll pick them up later.” He takes her by the hand again and pulls her deeper into the house. “Come on, I want you to meet my dad.”

_ I want you to meet my dad.  _ Carrie’s not sure why that makes a grin break out over her face, but it shatters out into the open, so wide that she couldn’t swallow it back even if she wanted to. Her heart beats a little softer, a little sweeter, a little more grateful. A little more proud. Nick is letting her meet his dad. Nick  _ wants  _ her to meet his dad. Nick wants her to meet his family. There’s something beautiful in there, right? His grip tightens on her hand, like he’s nervous. Carrie squeezes back.

“He should be in his- oh, hey Dad- in his studio,” Nick says. “It’s right upstairs, so we can dump our stuff in my room if you want.”

“Oh, you have someone over?” A man sticks his head out of the kitchen. “Who’s this?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe. Nick laughs nervously.

Carrie waves. It’s small and slightly awkward, but it’ll do. “Carrie Wilson, sir. We’re friends from school,” she introduces. Nick’s let go of her hand, but she grabs it again. Friends are allowed to hold hands. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The man glances at Nick for a long moment. “It’s nice to meet you too, Carrie,” he finally says. Nick is staring at the floor. “I’m glad to see Nick hanging out with someone aside from June,” he adds, a little teasing, just enough to make his son’s head jerk up in offence. Carrie doesn’t know who June is, but she laughs anyway, squeezing Nick’s hand. “Well, I’m the coolest Danforth-Evans, as I’m sure you can tell-” he gestures to his All Stars shirt (Carrie hasn’t listened to All Stars in a long time, honestly, but she and Flynn used to shout Summer Nights until their voices went hoarse, so she finds herself perking up at the familiar logo anyway), “-but I’m also known as Chad.”

Carrie gasps before she can help herself. “Ch-dad,” she whispers. Nick instantly drops her hand.

Chad’s face remains perfectly unphased. “Yes, that’s me,” he replies. “I’m the Ch-raddest of Ch-dads.”

Carrie doesn’t mean to laugh. Seriously, she doesn’t. It’s not even that funny of a joke. But it’s funny enough to make her lose it, right there in Nick’s front hallway, and he has his eyes shut in something like disappointment, but there’s a smile twitching on his face, and Chad is grinning at both of them, and- well, she just feels so happy. She claps happily as her laughter subsides. “I believe it,” she says, because she’s bursting with this happiness, and she can’t feel anything but adoration for this whole moment, for this whole family that she hardly knows. “You have a pretty rad son, after all.”

Chad’s smile softens exponentially. “Yeah. He’s pretty great.”

Nick groans. “Stop that,” he says, and loops an arm into Carrie’s, pulling her towards the stairs. “He’s already insufferable-”

“Oh, shut up, I didn’t raise you to whine-”

“You made me a  _ heart-shaped waffle!” _

“It was your birthday! And you’re my son! Why am I not allowed to love my son on his birthday?”

Nick just splutters, absolutely red, and tugs Carrie again. “We’re going to talk to Dad.”

“Alright,” Chad says. He tosses his apple in the air, catching it deftly. “I’ll go pick you a bouquet from the front, my dear, darling son whom I love so much.”

“I hate you,” Nick says. He blows a kiss. “Can we shoot baskets later?” Chad gives a thumbs up. “Hell yeah,” Nick says, pumping a fist in victory. They’re already up the stairs before Chad calls, “hey, language!” and Nick calls back, “Sure, Pops, I’ll get right on that!” Carrie collapses into laughter into his shoulder. She can’t help it. “Hey, you sure you got enough sleep, Care? You’re… laughing a lot.” He brings up a hand to brush her hair back, concern and amusement mixing on his face.

And, well the truth is, it’s another shot of redemption, just like with Julie. A little piece of her throat that’s been knit up with trust. Just being in this house, holding hands with her friend and laughing at his dad’s jokes, makes her feel like a better person. She hadn’t been sure what it meant when her dad said “be good enough for yourself,” but she  _ gets  _ it now, because she  _ is.  _ Right now, leaning into Nick’s shoulder, feeling appreciated and filled with adoration, Carrie is good enough for herself. Carrie is just  _ Carrie.  _ She’s found the balance. She’s just her, and she’s happy with that, and she’s so goddamn glad she’s alive right now.

“I’m just happy,” she says, and it’s more honest than she’s ever been with him.

The concern melts away. His eyes are like stars- it would sound romantic, maybe, in another context, but there’s no context like Nick. There’s nothing to explain the bone deep gratitude that comes with his friendship. God, but she never could have loved him like this before. “I’m glad,” he answers. It’s so earnest Carrie has to glance down at her own feet. Her pink socks are bright against the white carpeting of the upstairs hallway. It’s a nice contrast, though. The colors belong together. She  _ belongs  _ here.

She wiggles her toes happily. “Thank you for inviting me over. Your family is- they’re great. Really great. Even if Xander doesn’t know how to dress.”

Nick snickers, leading her down the hall. “Well, you met him at his most disastrous,” he explains. “He’s got all these health problems, so he’s working on his degree online for a little while until we can figure everything out. Wednesdays are awful, always. His classes are at, like, 7:30 and 10:00, and then he just goes back to bed until he has to pick up the girls.” He shakes his head, sighing. “Almost has the worst sleep schedule I’ve ever met.”

“Almost?”

He pokes her nose. “Yeah. You’ve got him beat.” Carrie sticks her tongue out at him, but he just smiles sweetly. He pushes open the door on their right. “Here, this is my room.” He pauses, tilting his head. “I can hear the music. Dad’s probably in the middle of running something right now, but we can go knock in a few minutes.”

Carrie nods, only half-listening. She’s never been in his room before. It’s got white walls with posters hung up- including an All Stars poster, she notices, right above his bed- and a soft carpet. The closet is open, spilling across the floor. Even from here, she can see the pile of grey t-shirts, and sighs out of her nose. “Nicky, can I please take you shopping sometime? Please. You need to wear more green.”

“More green?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why? I look terrible in green.”

She gasps, whipping around. “How dare you! Green is your best color!” Nick blinks. “Not to remind you of your terrible decision making skills, but I was your girlfriend for a whole  _ year.  _ Trust me. I know  _ all  _ your best colors.” She doesn’t expect the look that crosses his face at that- something like remorse, maybe, and her stomach drops. God, she  _ knows  _ he hated being with her, she shouldn’t have brought it up. Had she made it awkward now? “Sorry, I just-”

“No, no, it was funny,” Nick says, cutting her off. “You’re funny. Just…” he sighs. “Can we sit down?”

Carrie perches on the edge of the bed, trepidation brewing in her stomach. Nick settles himself carefully across from her, their knees pressing together. “Look, Carrie,” he begins, and then pauses. Her hands are shaking. “Look,” he starts again. He reaches out to tangle their fingers together. “I really, really like being your friend, so I hope I don’t make everything super awkward, but we gotta talk about it.”

Oh.

“No we don’t,” Carrie says instantly. “It’s okay. We can just move on-”

“Carrie.”

She presses her lips together, staring down at their hands.

“I mean it,” Nick continues. His voice has softened. “Not because I want to rehash anything. I don’t want to fight. But I need you to be honest with me. Please.”

Carrie’s never been good at honesty. But she can do it, maybe, for him. It’s easier to be honest when it’s with him. “Okay,” she whispers.

Nick squeezes her hand. “Okay,” he repeats. He takes a deep breath. “Why were you with me?” It’s not the question she expects, and her head jerks up, brows wrinkling together. Nick’s lips are trembling slightly. “I mean, if it was a popularity kind of thing, I wouldn’t be a great choice. You could have any guy on the lacrosse team you wanted. I’m not the best, or the most popular, or anything like that. And it’s definitely not because of my looks, so… what was it? I’m not smart enough to help you with your work, and I’m not good enough at music to help you with your band, and I’m not-”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Carrie says. She scoots forward, pressing their knees together more firmly. Nick flinches a little, but she reaches her free hand up to rest on his shoulder, gripping his shirt. “Look at me.” It takes a moment for him to raise his eyes to hers. There’s an anxiety that twists at her heart. “Listen to me, Nick,” she says quietly. “You are  _ wonderful.”  _ He opens his mouth, but she continues before he can interrupt. “No, no. No arguments. You’re a great lacrosse player, first of all. I know I’m terrible at coming to games, and I’m really sorry about that, but I like watching you play. You play like you’re _ dancing.  _ It’s incredible. I mean, really.” Nick rolls his eyes. He’s turning pink, though. “And even if you weren’t, even if you were complete trash, I still would have gone out with you. It was never a popularity thing. I promise. I wanted to go out with  _ you,  _ not a cool lacrosse player.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You were worth it.” She squeezes his hand again. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. Sure, you’re trash at pre-calc-” she gets a laugh out of him, and pride spikes in her chest, “-but I wouldn’t have passed last semester of AP Lit without you. Seriously. You’re a born poet, I swear.”

Nick shrugs. “I mean, but you and math-”

“You don’t have to be good at math to be smart,” she says firmly. “You  _ are  _ smart, Nick. And you’re amazing at music! I mean, I was looking at some of your compositions in the car- holy  _ shit,  _ dude. Songwriting with you would be an honor. All I’ve written recently is the stuff my therapist told me to.”

“Your  _ therapist  _ told you to write Wow?” he asks doubtfully.

Carrie shrugs. “Well, she said to write stuff that makes me feel good about myself. Close enough.” She squeezes his hand again. “Also, what the hell do you  _ mean,  _ it’s definitely not about your looks? Are you blind?”

The doubt returns in full force. “Carrie, I look twelve,” he says patiently, as if he’s reminding her. “Like, a twelve year old Roblox gamer. I mean, I’m a jock, and I don’t even have abs.”

“Okay, and?” Carrie shakes her head, scoffing. “We’ve  _ got  _ to get you a girlfriend, dude,” she tells him seriously, and he throws his head back laughing. “I mean it! You need someone other than your weird friend to tell you you’re hot. But like- you’re hot. Your hair is so soft, too, and your  _ eyes,  _ holy shit. Can I please put mascara on you sometime? It would look amazing. And when you wear green- yes, I’m still thinking about you wearing green- your whole face, like, opens up, I swear. Plus, you have the best nose, and your little freckles-”

“Okay, okay!” he says, laughing. He squeezes her hand back. “Okay, I get it. I’m hot.”

“Hot as hell,” she says solemnly. “And you’d best remember it.” She lets him laugh for a moment longer before she stops smiling and leans in to catch his eyes again. “Look at me, okay?” He meets her eyes more easily this time. “I was with you because I liked  _ you,  _ Nick. And I-” she takes a deep breath. “I’m not exactly perfect,” she admits. “Obviously. I mean, I started dating you at… the worst time of my life. And I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about that quite yet, but you were a bright spot. You made it all just a little better. And I should have made that more obvious, I know, but I really, truly needed you. I needed  _ you.  _ Because you’re smart and you’re kind and you always cared and your smile makes me want to smile, and- God, Nick, you’re just  _ worth it.  _ You’re a good person. Even when it’s hard, even when I hurt your feelings, you were still good and kind and I am so, so sorry.” She can feel tears stinging at his eyes, but she keeps her gaze locked on his, because he deserves to hear it. “You didn’t deserve to be hurt, baby. Not ever. But if I can earn-”

“Carrie,” he interrupts. “Carrie, that- I’ll tell you in a minute how much that meant to me, but first- look at me.” Her gaze has fallen to their hands again, but he tilts her chin up. He has a watery smile on. “You don’t need to earn  _ anything,”  _ he says fiercely. “Not from me. Yes, you hurt me. But you’re not… you’re not a bad person. We’re sixteen, for Christ’s sake. I don’t know what it is you’ve been telling yourself, but you’re  _ trying,  _ and that’s enough. You’re not a bad person. You’ve never been a bad person. You were mean and bitter and petty, but we’re  _ all  _ mean and bitter and petty sometimes, and I cared about you anyway. And I still care about you anyway. You’re my best friend.”

Carrie sniffs, blinking. “You’re making me cry,” she mumbles. “Not fair.” But she launches forward into his arms right after, so she’s pretty sure it’s not very convincing. “Thank you,” she whispers into his shoulder. “Thank you so, so much.” She says, “You’re my best friend,” and Nick holds her, and he lets her cry. He’s crying too, she thinks. It’s alright, though. They can cry here. They’re safe together, just the two of them.

She couldn’t have loved him before, not really. But now, he’s her best friend, and he _forgives_ her, and this is so much better.

“You’re the best,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “And I cannot believe you didn’t tell me the garden house is  _ yours-” _

Nick shoves her off of him. “Oh, let it go,” he says, but he’s laughing again. There’s something special about making your best friend laugh. It lights her all up inside.

“It’s betrayal!” she protests. “And you made me get all worried that you might be homophobic-”

_ “What?” _

“I didn’t  _ know-” _

“I have two dads!”

“You literally didn’t tell me that!”

He pauses. “Well,” he starts, and then shoves her shoulder. “Still. I’m not an asshole.”

“No,” she agrees. “But I’m bisexual, so-” she’s never said it out loud before, but it comes easier than she expected. It’s Nick. She can’t be afraid of Nick.

He reaches over and squeezes her hand. “Somehow, I’m not surprised,” he remarks. Carrie rolls her eyes. “Hey, Care?”

“Yeah?” She tilts her head over to look at him.

“I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes sting again. “Yeah, well-” she swallows hard. “I’m proud of you too. For… everything. For willing to be friends. For breaking up with me in the first place, honestly, because it just… it makes me proud that you stood up for yourself? Is that weird?”

“It’s not weird.” His grin is soft around the edges. “It’s sweet. You’re allowed to be proud of your best friend.”

“Good. I’m super proud of you.”

“I’m super proud of you, too.” He reaches up to brush her hair back. “And stop with all this dooming yourself, okay? Yes, you hurt me. But you were hurting too. It wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t as bad as you think. It was  _ human.  _ You’re a good person, Carrie. You don’t have to redeem yourself or rebuild yourself or anything like that. You’re just changing. You’re growing. That’s normal. You don’t have to be proud of who you were before, but don’t condemn her. So you were a child. Everyone’s a child. You don’t have to start over.”

_ You don’t have to start over. _

_ Just work on being good enough for yourself. _

She can’t say anything, but that’s okay. She just holds her best friend’s hand as tightly as she can. And maybe she’s not crumbling after all- maybe the china is just giving way to something that’s always been inside. Maybe those cracks are just stretch marks. Maybe she just had to be ready to grow.

.

.

She knows it from the instant she steps inside the studio. She sees Nick’s dad do a spinning jump and spring into a leap right from it, and the grace is breathtaking, but more importantly, she  _ knows. _

“I’ve got it,” she breathes. She’s got it. It all makes sense now. Of course the words wouldn’t come- Carrie’s always used words as a mask, as a way to exert control. Flynn needs honesty. Flynn needs a tumbling pass into blind territory. Flynn needs her to lose control completely, needs to be given the everything that Carrie can give her, needs to see the absolute, complete truth. She’ll never be able to crumple all that honesty into a song.

It all makes sense now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed!! this chapter is... well. it's sappy as shit, obviously, but i loved writing it, and i hope you liked reading it half as much. drop a comment to let me know what you thought!! i hope all of you are as happy as carrie wilson today


	4. brilliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn’s jaw trembles for a moment, but she can’t hold it back for long, and the question comes bursting out. “What about me?”  
> -  
> or; Carrie is gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i know i know i know i know i'm not supposed to post twice in one day but. i am. so... yeah
> 
> anyway this is!! the last chapter!! i might cry honestly this story is my baby and it's a little overwhelming that i actually finished it???? i don't know it's just... a very happy moment for me right now. i'm actually really proud of this piece. i hope all you enjoy reading the conclusion as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

She stays for dinner, which is… it’s not a bad experience. Not even slightly. In fact, it’s amazing. But it’s odd. Carrie hasn’t stayed over at someone’s house for dinner since she and Julie gave up on each other. Crowding in around the table with Nick on her left and June on her right, eating pasta that Xander made (10 out of 10) and salad that Ryan made (5 out of 10, but it’s salad, so she’ll give him full marks for effort), knocking elbows as they reach for the parmesan and laughing at Xan when he gets sauce on his shirt, gives her a strange sense of domesticity. It’s not that she doesn’t love her dad- she does, and they  _ are _ a family of their own, a little tiny unit of love- but their house isn’t a home. He doesn’t like it there either, she knows.

“I might move,” she says. She and Nick are on the porch swing, watching June and Haley chase each other with toy lightsabers in the garden.

Nick startles. “Move?”

“Yeah.” She watches Haley whack her sister and snickers at June’s war cry. “Out East. Rhode Island.”

“That’s a long way from L.A.”

“Well, L.A. feels a long way from home.”

There’s a pause. He shifts, pulling one arm around her. “If you’ll be happy, I’ll be happy,” he says. “But I’ll miss you.”

She watches June pause to tuck a blossom behind her ear before charging Haley again. “I’ll miss you too,” she answers honestly. “But I want to be happy so badly. And that house… Dad and I can’t do it anymore. We can’t be ourselves in there.”

“You have to text me every day.”

“Of course, dork.” She elbows him in the ribs lightly. “I’m gonna text you so much you’ll get  _ sick  _ of me.”

He laughs. “Like I could ever.”

She’s never grinned so hard in her life.

.

.

That night, she and her dad curl up on the couch together and pull open a photo album. “Look at this,” she says, pulling one out. It’s her and Flynn at their seventh grade dance, hands clasped together, falling over in laughter. They’re wearing the same dress. Carrie still has it upstairs- it doesn’t fit anymore, but it makes her smile to see it.

Her dad nods. “That’s a good one,” he agrees. “And here.” He pulls out another one, where she and Flynn have Julie between them, arms tossed over her. Julie is leaning back, smiling wide at the camera, but Flynn and Carrie are looking at each other, all ten-year-old smiles and sparkling eyes. Carrie nods decisively and takes it from him, setting it aside. They work further through the book, pulling out memories. Each one tugs at her heart, tugs at the stretch marks in her fragile china chest, but it’s a welcome twinge. The sweetness of nostalgia is worth a little pain.

She pauses. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, baby?” He’s flipping another page.

Carrie hesitates, but presses on. “Do you remember the fourth of July last year?”

There’s a heavy kind of silence. His hands have stopped moving.

“I just…” she stares down at the photo in her hands. Her and Flynn in the kitchen, covered with flour, smearing each other with the icing for their cupcakes. “You said it was your friend’s birthday. And I know it hurts to lose people, but doesn’t it hurt less to remember why you loved them?”

The silence persists for a moment longer.

His voice is quiet. “His name was Alex.” Carrie’s back straightens, and she scoots closer, curling into his side. The photo album is set aside for the moment. “He was… you remind me a lot of him, actually.” His voice is still low, still fragile, but it’s getting steadier. “I met him when I was little. We were eight or nine or something like that, and I’d just moved here from Santa Monica, and oh my  _ God,  _ everyone was so annoying.” Carrie snickers. “I mean it! Everyone was just loud and- you know eight year olds. We all hated each other. And I was even more of a weirdo when I was a kid, if you can believe it-”

“I cannot.”

“Thanks. But the kids were all assholes. And then there was Alex.” A fond little smile curved at the edge of his mouth. “He was always just a little anxious. His whole life, he was kind of panicking. But we were eight years old and at lunch, and he got up all his courage and came marching right up to me and asked me to be friends. And then he ran.”

Carrie bites back another laugh. “He ran?” she asks incredulously. “Just… turned and bolted?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Dad squeezes her close to his side. “But I followed him,” he adds softly. “All the way to the edge of the soccer field, until he was ready to talk. It was easy to wait for him, you know? He was just one of those people. I had to wait for him a lot, because it was hard for him to make decisions or to do anything without overthinking first, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t hard to wait. He was worth waiting on.” He sighs in her hair. “He was so kind.” His voice is stronger. More sure. Still cracking, but he’s breathing through it, and Carrie has never felt the kind of pride that’s under her tongue right now. “Always. He never had many friends, you know, because the world is… it’s not a nice place, but Alex was such a nice person. The world didn’t deserve him.”

“You did,” she murmurs.

“No.” He kisses her head. “No, never. Alex was… it was admirable, you know? No matter what anyone threw at him, he kept being who he was. He got hurt and he got back up and just kept being kind, kept being sensitive. Kept being himself. His parents almost kicked him out when he told them he was gay, and he just… kept on going. He cried, and he stopped crying, and he let them go, because he knew it wasn’t worth losing himself over people that couldn’t be proud of it. He was… so strong.” Dad let out a shuddering breath. “I miss him,” he admits, his voice absolutely wrecked. “So, so much.”

Carrie curls into his side and says, “I bet, if it were the other way around, he would miss you just as much,” because there’s nothing else to say.

“I hope so.” Dad kisses her head. “You wanna hear about Reggie?” he asks, his voice a little brighter. “He’s the one that taught me how to swing dance.”

_ “You know how to swing dance?” _

.

.

Carrie crashes into first period the next day and flings herself into Julie’s arms. Julie catches her, stumbling slightly, and laughs in her ear. “Hi!”

“Hi!” Julie replies. Her voice is equally as bright. “I think you missed me!”

“I did,” Carrie says, completely honest. “I was gonna call you yesterday, but then I was at Nick’s until, like, eight, and then I was doing stuff with my dad, and I didn’t wanna call you at midnight, so. You know.”

Julie pats her back. “Well, I missed you too,” she replies. “I had to skip band practice to do my math homework yesterday? Like, what the hell? And Flynn would  _ not  _ pick up the phone to help me-"

"Uh, I was busy," Flynn defends, glancing up from her phone. She's sitting to their left, sprawled out across several chairs.

Julie scoffs. "You were painting your nails."

"And they look amazing," Flynn replies smugly, wiggling said nails in the air. They  _ do  _ look amazing. Flynn just kind of always looks amazing, though.

Julie squeezes her tight for a moment longer before she lets go. "It took me three hours to do the worksheet," she whines. "She's mean. Tell her she's mean."

"Uh…" Carrie glances between the two of them. "Um. Actually…"

"Carrie!"

"Sorry!" she yelps. "But I need Flynn to do something for me, so…" Flynn snickers a little. "Strictly business. Her nails  _ do  _ look amazing, though."

Julie glances over sulkily. "Yeah, they do," she mutters. Flynn preens.

.

.

Flynn flops down next to her at lunch. “So.” She’s frowning.

Carrie straightens instantly. “Yes?” she asks. Her voice is a little quieter than normal- she can’t  _ help  _ it, Flynn’s stare is  _ scary-  _ but it’s not shaking, which is a score.

Flynn’s eyes narrow momentarily. “So,” she says again, “I heard you apologised to Julie.”

“I did, yes.”

“Why?”

Carrie looks back down at her sandwich. “Because she deserves it,” she answers after a moment. “And because I want to be her friend. I want to get better. Or at least grow,” she amends, remembering what Nick had told her. “I want to be happy. And making Julie happy would make me happy. So I apologised.”

There’s a pause. Flynn shifts slightly. “Well,” she starts, and then trails off. Carrie peers up at her through her lashes. She’s frowning. “She  _ is _ happier. So thank you.” Carrie nods. There’s another pause. Flynn purses her lips.

“What is it?” Carrie asks, shifting a little closer.

Flynn’s jaw trembles for a moment, but she can’t hold it back for long, and the question comes bursting out. “What about me?”

Carrie blinks. “Huh?”

“What about-” Flynn looks down at her hands. “Why not me? If- if seeing Julie happy still makes you happy, then why-”

Carrie grabs her hand on impulse. “Flynn. Flynn. Breathe.” Flynn just glares at her.  _ “Breathe.”  _ She rubs her thumb over the back of Flynn’s knuckles, as softly as she can. Flynn deserves the softness. “Of course making you happy would make me happy. It will. It’s just… it’s not ready yet. The apology.”

Flynn pauses. “Oh.” Carrie rubs at her knuckles again. “Well. I don’t forgive you yet.”

“That’s fair.”

“When will my apology be ready?”

Carrie hums, thinking. “I don’t know. But soon.” She squeezes Flynn’s hand. “Promise.”

Flynn nibbles at her lip. “Okay,” she says quietly. “I forgive you soon, then.” There’s another pause between them. Neither lets go. “What do you need me to do?” she asks, scooting a little closer. “This morning you said you needed me to do something.”

Carrie blinks. “Oh, right. I meant to ask. Um…” she glances down at their entwined hands. “I was just wondering if you could meet me at the beach today. Just for a little bit. It’s for a personal project thing, I need to take pictures, and-”

“What time?”

“Seven.”

Flynn’s face breaks into a grin. “I’ll be there.” She squeezes Carrie’s hand before she drops it, jumping up to her feet. “Bike shack?”

“Of course.”

“Hella. Let me know when my apology is ready, mkay?” She sweeps away, but darts back a moment later, snatching the other half of Carrie’s sandwich and leaving her pretzels in return. “I love Nutella,” she explains.

Carrie hums, opening the pretzels. “I know.”

.

.

Nick drives her to the beach. “Ready?” he asks, pulling up in the parking lot of the bike shack.

Carrie takes a deep breath and pats her camera. “Not in the least.” She kicks the door open anyway. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” she says, and leans over into the back to give Haley a high five. “Have fun at ballet, kiddo.”

“Teach me the pretty spin!” Haley demands. It’s a very cute demand, though.

Carrie nods. “Yes, of course. I’ll ask your dad if we can use his studio sometime soon.” Haley cheers, clapping. Ryan had offered her use of his studio the minute she’d mentioned liking ballet, and Haley is absolutely determined to learn to fouette. Nick raises an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“I just can’t believe you like my little sister more than me,” he replies, then gives her a high five of his own. “Now go be a rocking photographer.”

Carrie takes a deep breath. “Okay. Gotta get me a girlfriend.”

“Gotta get you a girlfriend,” Nick agrees. “And I’ll also get you fries on the way home. Now go, Flynn’s gonna be wondering where you are.”

“Okay, okay!” She gives Haley one last thumbs up and then darts out of the car. She watches as they drive away, smiling. It’s funny, kind of- she’d felt so utterly, immediately at home in the Danforth-Evans house, but she hadn’t realised that it feels the same everywhere, just so long as they’re around. It really is a people and not a place, huh? Who knew.

Flynn is waiting for her on the sand. “There you are.”

Carrie means to reply. Really, she does. But Flynn is standing there with this half-smile, with her braids all caught up in the evening wind, and she’s wearing her pink QUEEN crop top with cutoffs, barefoot in the golden glow of late afternoon, and- “Fuck,” Carrie mumurs instead.

Flynn blinks. “Huh?”

“Uh-” Carrie jolts, clutching her camera to her chest. “I- uh- here I am!” She’s definitely blushing. Shit.  _ Very smooth, Wilson. _

“Yeah,” Flynn replies slowly. “Here we are. I didn’t know what to wear, so I hope-”

“It’s good,” Carrie says hastily. “It’s good. Really good. It’s great. You look… great.” Flynn blinks again. Carrie clears her throat. “So! Uh, the pictures. I was just thinking we’d try for something candid first?”

Flynn’s eyes are heavy, tracing over her face. “Mhm,” she says. She sounds amused. “We can do that. How do you want me, boss?”

Carrie glances down at the camera for a moment, and then back up. “Well, just…” She takes a small step closer. “Why don’t you just… tell me about your day?”

“My day?”

“Yeah. Just tell me how it went.”

Flynn stares at her for a moment longer, and then launches into the tale of her biology test, and how number 13 was  _ totally  _ rigged, and it didn’t even cover half the chapter, so why the fuck did she have to study it! Carrie nods along, snapping a picture every few moments. The sunlight is catching Flynn from behind, turning her into an angel. Turning her into a vibrant, golden thing, bursting full of like, like a firework, like a shooting star. She slams into Carrie’s senses like a sparkler. A little sun of just herself. There are entire galaxies dancing through the crinkles of laughter by her eyes.

She’s fucking beautiful.

Flynn turns on a playlist of upbeat songs, and they both sing along, Carrie laughing through the lyrics as she snaps picture after picture of Flynn, spinning wildly around in the sand.

The camera is set aside when Highlight of My Life comes on, and Flynn pulls her in by the hands, pulling them in a clumsy circle. “Darling, you’re the highlight of my life,” she sings, swinging Carrie out to the side and pulling her back in. “You’re the one that makes it all worthwhile-”

“You’re the one that taught me how to smile-”

“Darling, you’re the highlight of my life!”

They swing back together, Carrie’s arms slipping around Flynn’s waist as Flynn’s fingers tangle in her hair. “You’re the one I always think about,” Carrie sings, a bit softer. “And you’re the one I couldn’t live without- and you have always been my guiding light-”

“Darling, you’re the highlight of my life,” Flynn chimes in, her voice impossibly gentle, and Carrie can’t breathe. It’s like all the sunshine Flynn holds inside her has come flooding into Carrie’s chest, filling her up, lighting her on fire from the inside. “Darling, you’re the highlight of my life…” They both trail off, but they don’t pull apart, and then there they are, locked together and swaying gently on the L.A. beach. Flynn leans her forehead gently against Carrie’s. They’re breathing in tandem. She wonders distantly if Flynn can feel the rabbit in her heartbeat.

“Thank you,” Carrie whispers.

Flynn’s hand runs through her hair gently. “I forgive you soon,” she murmurs, and Carrie swallows hard, nodding. “Soon,” Flynn repeats, as if she’s reminding herself.

“It’ll be the best day of my life,” Carrie replies, her voice equally soft.

Dolly Parton fades out.

They keep swaying until it gets dark.

.

.

It’s Saturday morning when she finally goes to Flynn’s house. She has her apology clutched to her chest and her anxiety clutched to her heart, but she takes a deep breath and knocks before she can lose her nerve.

Flynn’s mom opens the door. “Oh, Carrie! Flynn mentioned you might come by.”

Carrie forces herself to smile, even though her stomach is flipping wildly. Holy shit. She’s really doing this. She’s actually doing this. “Yeah. I… I was wondering if I could talk to her.”

Mrs Pines steps aside. “Of course, honey.” Her voice and smile are just as warm as Carrie remembers. “She’s in her room.”

Carrie thanks her and ascends the stairs. She’s shaking a little bit. When she gets to Flynn’s bedroom door, she has to pause, staring at it. She closes her eyes and takes one last deep breath.

She’s got this.

She knocks. “Flynn?”

There’s exactly half a second before the door is flying open, and there she is, wearing a One Direction shirt and skinny jeans and the biggest smile Carrie has ever seen. “My apology!” Flynn exclaims, because of  _ course  _ she does, and tugs Carrie in by her elbow. “I have been  _ waiting.” _

“I texted you ten minutes ago.”

“Ten  _ painful  _ minutes,” Flynn retorts, and throws herself onto her bed. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Carrie rolls her eyes, but they both know she’s smiling, so she doesn’t bother holding it back. It’s nice to be happy for no reason. It’s easy to just be happy when Flynn is happy. God, it’s so easy. That smirk lights her up like she never knew. “Well, I’ve got to explain it a little first, so just…” She swallows, shifting her weight a little. “Okay, so, uh- I was going to write you a song,” she confesses. “But I couldn’t… I couldn’t find the words, you know? Because you  _ know  _ I’m sorry. Of course I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, but I need you… I need you to know  _ why. _ And it’s… it’s so hard to explain that. So-” she takes another deep breath. “I made you this,” she says, holding out the photo album. “And I hope that… I hope it’ll explain why I want you to be happy.”

Flynn takes it and holds it in her lap for a few moments, staring down at the cover. Carrie shifts again, trying not to explode from the nerves jolting back and forth beneath her skin. Slowly, Flynn flips the book open. Her hand flies up to her mouth. “Oh-” It’s her and Carrie, the day after their first cheer competition, wearing matching uniforms and tangled in a hug. Both of them are pulled tight in Rose’s arms. “Oh, we’re so little-” she pats the covers next to her. “Come here. Come sit with me.”

And Carrie does.

Together, they flip through photo after photo, laughing and smiling and holding hands and leaning on each other, with Julie and with Rose and with Carrie’s dad, and with each other every time, and lit up like the sun. It’s obvious by the third page, Carrie thinks, that she’s been staring at Flynn like she hung the stars since they were ten years old. Flynn must see it too. But she doesn’t say anything. She just leans her head over onto Carrie’s shoulder and flips the page again.

It’s a photo from Thursday. Flynn, soaked in the golden sunlight, hands flung out to the sides as she laughed, halfway through spinning. She looks like a painting. Like a piece of art. She’s breathtaking and beautiful and so incredibly  _ alive,  _ a life and a love bursting up off the page like something tangible. Even seeing it for the thousandth time, Carrie can hardly breathe through the awe in her lungs, because  _ God,  _ Flynn is everything. Flynn is every star in the sky. Flynn is every sunset, every sunrise, that she has ever seen. She’s perfect pink roses and raging rainstorms and time well spent.

She’s  _ Flynn,  _ and that’s worth so much more than anything else.

“Oh,” Flynn breathes. Her finger gingerly traces over the picture. “Oh, Carrie- this is gorgeous.”

“It’s you.”

Flynn doesn’t look at her yet. She keeps staring at the photo. Keeps taking it in with wide, wide eyes. “This is how you see me?”

“Always,” Carrie replies, and- well, and she thinks Flynn gets it.

“Always,” Flynn echoes. She keeps staring for a moment longer, and then closes the album, carefully setting it aside. “Carrie-” she starts, and then shakes her head and meets Carrie’s eyes. Her fingers trail up under her chin, gripping it in place, and now it’s Carrie’s turn to stare, because her neurons are refusing to fire and all she can process is the warmth of Flynn’s touch. “I forgive you now,” Flynn says, and then she says, “You’re fucking gorgeous,” and leans in.

Carrie is certain the sun is inside her now. There’s no other explanation for the warmth that explodes through her chest when their lips meet.

.

.

It made sense, in hindsight. It wasn’t as sudden or impulsive or insane as it felt in the moment. It was an explosion of guilt, of desperation, of love, of a thousand lies that had built up and up and up until there was nothing left and no space left to fill and they could do nothing but burst out of her like the fireworks in Flynn’s eyes. It was a first step, and then another, and another, until she was walking again. It was okay. It was just stretch marks.

Carrie Wilson cut her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there it is!! the end of all of this. thank you taking the baby steps with me and with carrie. i love you all!! thank you so, so much for reading this!!

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah!! i'm really excited for this story, tbh. it's gonna be fun!! comment down below and let me know what you thought!! hmu on tumblr @bobbywilsonsupremacy if u wanna chat!! i do be lonely


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